


we won!

by owlsii



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Autistic Alexander Hamilton, Canon Era, M/M, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, happy crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsii/pseuds/owlsii
Summary: After the Battle of Yorktown, everything is a blur. Alexander can't get his thoughts sorted, until he sees George again.





	we won!

**Author's Note:**

> yeah hi i love sappy endings and happy crying
> 
> laf is nonbinary bc even though it's canon era, i'm a gay enby and i can do what i want
> 
> also ft. lowkey autistic alex

Alexander’s eyes were closed. The noises of his fellow soldiers, screaming and laughing and some even crying, were muffled in his ears. Someone knocked into his shoulder. He fell to the hard ground, eyes opening as his hands dug into the dirt to prevent him from hitting his head. His vision blurred. People ran past him and he could feel their boots thumping against the ground.

Everything since he first caught a glimpse of that shining white flag was a haze, and he must’ve been in shock, because he only remembered snippets of time since then. Rushing into a tent to negotiate the terms of surrender, shaking hands with a British officer, glancing at Washington and seeing a soft smile on the general’s face--

“Alex!”

Someone grabbed him by the collar and helped him stand before pulling him into a tight hug, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. Alexander didn’t move. He looked up. Lafayette was crying, tear streaks cutting into the bloodstains on their face.

“Laf?” he whispered. He meant it as a greeting, but the dazed look in his eyes reflected in his voice. Something in his brain wasn’t registering, or maybe too many things were registering. He felt like collapsing into Laf’s arms, like letting their thick jacket muffle out the chaos, but he didn’t.

“We did it, mon ami!” Laf sobbed, breaking him from his thoughts. They kissed Alexander on the forehead repeatedly, mumbling under their breath in French. Alexander was too exhausted to translate.

“Laf, let the kid breathe.” Hercules playfully shoved Laf away. He turned to Alexander and gently put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Alexander liked that about him. He was always there for everyone. A stabilizer. “Hey, you okay? D’you need a medic?”

“No...” Alexander shook his head slowly, but he wasn’t really sure. Everything was moving in slow motion, like a dream. Like it wasn’t real.

Laf ran around, hugging and kissing and talking animatedly to their friends, still crying. They bounced around the battlefield with ease. Hercules stayed with Alexander, who after a few seconds, grabbed the taller man and shoved his face into his chest. Hercules was expecting this, of course, and hugged him back, tightly, like Alexander needed.

Alexander’s mind raced, but his face was blank. When Hercules pulled away, he didn’t say anything. He was too occupied with sorting through his brain.

“I’m gonna go find Burr, make sure he’s fine,” Hercules said, eyes trailing down Alexander’s body, checking for injuries one last time. He said nothing on how the smaller man was so unusually quiet. “You’ll be okay?”

Alexander nodded. Hercules jogged away, leaving him alone. Then he started walking. He didn’t really have a set destination, but he wanted to get out of the crowd. To someplace quiet. He was too busy thinking of a place to sit down and rest to pay attention, and bumped into someone.

“Hamilton!” Burr exclaimed. Alexander looked up. His eyes were glazed over, causing Burr’s eyebrows to furrow. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Fine,” Alexander muttered, swiping away the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Burr narrowed his eyes, because obviously he wasn’t fine. Burr let out a breath and let it go.

“Washington’s on the way back to his tent,” he said. But Alexander was too focused on _Washington_ to respond. Burr glanced over him for a split second, a knowing look in his eye, and then strode away.

Washington. Where was the tent? He had to go there. Now. He felt his boots thud against the hard ground and his lungs seized, unable to get enough air. He stopped and leaned over, panting. Then he stood up and scanned the battlefield.

He was back near the tents, but the crowd was as dense as before, and he could barely see through it. His gaze swept past the tents, until--

George was smiling. He was looking out at his soldiers, the commander of an army, an army who defeated the British. His eyes were teary, Alexander could tell, even from so far away. Then George turned around and returned to the tent.

Alexander’s legs burned, but he sprinted to the tent and slipped inside, still panting as he tried to get enough air inside his weakened body. George turned around, but before either of them could say anything, Alexander jumped into his arms.

And just like that, the tears began, and he sobbed into George’s collar, feeling the general’s arms wrap around him. He gripped the back of George’s jacket and pulled him closer, needing the comfort only George could give him. He pulled back and his eyes flicked over the general’s eyes, his bleeding cheek, and his lips.

Alexander kissed him suddenly, still out of breath, still bleeding, still crying. His hands trailed up George’s neck and grabbed his hat, dropping it to the floor so he could run dirt-stained hands through the general’s hair. George kissed back eagerly, until Alexander pulled away. A realization washed over him in that moment, in the warm embrace of his general, smiles on both their faces.

“We won,” he whispered, face covered in sweat and grime and blood and tears, jacket stained with gunpowder, lips cracked and dry. Hands on the back of George’s neck, pulling him closer so their foreheads touched.

“We won,” George whispered back, tears in his eyes, knowing how much this war had cost him, but now it was over. One hand on Alexander’s hip, the other on his cheek, still processing that they were both injured and hurt and in shock but still alive.

They kissed again, and again, and again, and in between each one, they would repeat the words, quietly and softly but _true_.

**Author's Note:**

> look at that cliched last sentence, i love it
> 
> i dont really have anything to say about this one except i wrote it in like an hour and was grinning like an idiot by the end bc i love them


End file.
